Halo_ Ghosts of Onyx - Eric S. Nylund [71]
"So then," Tanner said to Higgins, "In Amber Clad goes after the damned Covenant battleship as it did an in-atmosphere Slipspace jump! Flattened New Mombassa. I don't know what those split-chinned freaks were after, but they sure didn't stick around after they found it—that's all I heard. CENTCOM channels are dropping off line. That can't be good."
Fred looked to Linda and Will.
Linda made a short lateral cut with her hand, the "stay cool" gesture.
They couldn't worry about the larger strategic picture. They had to stay focused on their part. Secure the orbital elevator, and win this war one battle at a time.
Fred spied the Cuban coast ahead: surf and white sands.
The Pelican screamed over jungle tangle. Fifty kilometers in the distance a line stretched from ground to clouds: the UNSC Centennial Orbital Elevator, or as the locals called it: Tallo Negro del Maiz, the "stalk of black corn."
It was two hundred years old, antiquated but one of the few surviving OEs capable of heavy lifting on Earth. In the last two weeks, nuclear devices slated for conversion to peaceful purposes had been transported to Cuba. Recent actions had depleted the UNSC nuclear stockpile, and these older, low-yield bombs were all they had left.
Sergeant Tanner continued, "So then the Covenant fleet really starts to tear into the orbital defenses. It's getting ugly up there. Major skirmishes with the Second, Seventh, and Sixteenth Fleets."
"… Just as long as the plasma doesn't start dropping," Hig-gins replied.
Tanner stopped chewing her gum. "Multiple silhouettes ahead. Banshee fliers. Whoa—" She craned her head, looking up.
Fred moved to the cockpit and followed her gaze. Up the orbital elevator, past a whisper haze of clouds, a pair of dots— each a kilometer-and-a-half-long Covenant ship—orbited.
"What the hell are they doing up there?" Tanner whispered.
Covenant orbital support complicated this mission. Ground forces might have aerial support, heavy armor, or artillery
But Covenant didn't need the stalk to transport an invasion force. They'd just land their ships or use grav beams. Why were
they here? Blue Team would have to move in closer before he could discern their motives.
Fred studied the radar images. "There's a hole in the Banshee patrol pattern." He tapped the far edge of the screen. "Put us down here. We'll go in by foot."
"Your call," Tanner said dubiously. She pushed the throttle and the Pelican accelerated, dropping so it now decapitated palm trees.
"Make ready for hot drop, Spartans." She spun the Pelican around and sank into the jungle. "Call if you need a lift. Blue Team. Good hunting."
Fred, Linda, and Will grabbed their gear and jumped out the back, six meters to the sandy ground.
The Pelican roared away.
Fred pointed northeast and they moved silently though the tropical brush, and entered the shadow of Tallo Negro del Maiz.
A half kilometer from the elevator complex, the jungle had been cleared and replaced by concrete, asphalt, and warehouses. Towering freight container cranes stood instead of coconut trees.
Fred heard the dull pounding steps of a Covenant Scarab attack platform. He spotted the lumbering behemoth as it crashed through a warehouse, tearing steel walls like tissue paper.
"Trouble," he muttered over TEAMCOM.
"Opportunity," Will countered.
Linda kept her comments to herself and methodically wrapped the barrel of her new sniper rifle with brown and green rags. She lay in the scrub, powered on her Oracle scope, and sighted down its length.
"UNSC personnel down," she reported. "Thermals cold. All dead. Making out six—no, a dozen Covenant moving in groups of four… carrying cargo pods. Not Elites. Brutes."
Fred paused, remembering the gorillalike creatures from their op on Unyielding Hierophant. A single Brute had wrestled
John in his MJOLNIR armor… and almost won. Not as bad as facing Covenant Hunters, but Hunters only